


Fallen Leaves

by timepavement



Category: Battle For Dream Island (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Dramedy, Family Guy - Freeform, Modern AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timepavement/pseuds/timepavement
Summary: Leafy x reader fic, in which Leafy has divorced the reader and is paying an unexpected visit. commission for wishfixerz
Relationships: Leafy/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Fallen Leaves

_“Lucky there’s a family guy! Lucky there’s a man who, positively can do…”_

It’s another lonely Thursday. Rain is pouring like a waterfall on your tiny-yet-still-too-empty townhouse, and Family Guy is on the TV. Family Guy, of all shows. You’ve finally done it, you’ve become one of those guys who sits alone at home and watches Family Guy, because it’s on and you don’t feel like getting up to change the channel. Because if you started putting forth the effort to get up and pick up the remote, you may as well put forth the effort to get up and do something productive. At that point, you may as well put forth the effort to make something with your life. And if you tried doing that… what would happen? Scary to think about. Better to not try. Better not to bother, not get up, and just stay here in safe stagnation. 

And that’s why you’re watching Family Guy.

_“Peetah! I can’t believe you’d do that, to your own son!”_

Oh Peter, you wacky son of a bitch. You’ve done it again. Got yourself ass-up into some funny predicament, at the expense of your own family. Some “family guy”. Of course, it’s not like they’ll mind in the end. No matter what happens, they’ll all conveniently forget what problems have arisen and stick together as one big not-so-happy family by the start of the next episode. Everything happy, everything back to normal. If only. A world where even a careless oaf gets to keep his wife and kids, instead of one where guys who tried their best, tried to make things, end up alone and morose on rainy Thursday evenings watching fucking Family Guy.

_BANG BANG BANG_

The door. During this whole internal Peter Griffin resentment ceremony, you thought you heard some repetitive pounding, but assumed it was just some particularly aggressive raindrops. But honing in, that is unmistakably the sound of rapid knocking on your door. But who could it be? A delivery you forgot about? Some particularly persistent and weather-unaverse salesperson or religious recruiter? It’s not like you were expecting any company today, or any time soon. 

_BANGBANGBANGBANG_

Well, no sense in letting this unexpected visitor get soaked. The best way to learn who was on the other side of that door was going to be to swing it open for yourself. Quickly, now, before whoever it is gets fed up and storms off, time wasted and disappointed with you. ‘Cause no one’s ever done that with you yet. Dammit, focus, focus. 

Like Sisyphus rearing up to give his boulder another ill-fated push up the mountain, you shrug off tragedy and muster your strength to get out of your patchy old reclining chair. Your “comfy chair”, as your daughter used to call it. Comfy like a padded cell. You trudge your way across the room, making your way to the door with the pointed urgency of lukewarm molasses. Mere inches away from the door, you hear the shouting. The frustrated voice of your expectant guest, that deep, heart-piercing voice. 

“Y/N! Open up! Come on, dammit, I see the lights are on! I know you’re there!”

It’s her.

Well. At least you don’t have to worry about disappointing someone new.

“I’m coming, hold on!” you bark back, mirrored frustration masking fear. You take a moment to compose yourself, fixing your hair and adjusting the collar of your t-shirt. Without a mirror at hand you aren’t able to know whether this is helping your appearance, but it boosts your confidence regardless. It’s basically a good luck ritual, and you’re willing to admit that. You take a deep breath, and open the door. 

On the other side, staring right into you from just beyond your screen door, it’s her. Leafy the leaf. Your ex-wife. 

She’s standing, fist still balled and face creased into a pernicious frown. You can barely look her in the eyes. Scratch that, you just can’t. You know if you try, you’ll risk falling down the rabbit hole of bygone fantasies and broken promises. Instead, you focus on what she’s wearing. A trenchcoat, predictable soaked. She had been waiting a while. It’s okay, it wasn’t her good coat or anything. You think you remember being there when she got it from some thrift store. It was disposable to her, probably, and you supposed it wasn’t alone in that category. 

Crowning her was a hickory brown fedora. That was new. You hadn’t seen her wear that before. Wonder where she got that? Maybe it was a birthday present? Her birthday WAS only a month or so ago. Who gave it to her? It looked nice. Not on her, per say, just in general, it looked well made. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d buy for herself. Who bought it for her? Did she wear it here just to show it off to you? Or was it the kind of thing she barely even thought about, that she just threw on when she goes out?

You swallow, soaking in the painful silence between you two. You’d feel bad, just standing here sizing her up like this, if you knew she wasn’t doing the same herself. Like a showdown between two duelists, you both were encouraged to stand on edge, weapons ready but not willing to make the first move. A first move invited a first response, and a correct response would leave one with a sword wound painting scarlet ribbons across the pavement. 

Always the bold one and not lacking in finesse, Leafy made the crucial first lunge in this engagement.

“Can I… come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Of course,” you fumble, hands bumbling their way to the screen door’s knob. As you grasp it, you feel her pull the door out, wresting the handle from your grip. Of course. You step aside, tepidly gesturing in a vaguely inviting manner. As Leafy enters your home, she wastes no time scanning the perimeter, like a hawk in the mood for a meal. Cocking an eyebrow, she turns to you.

“Do you have a coat hanger in here?”

“You kept that,” you remind her, not meaning to be passive aggressive but not particularly minding if you came off that way.

“And you haven’t gotten a new one?”

You shrug. “Closet’s over there,” you offer, waving towards its slightly agape door. 

Leafy pouts an angry pout, as if your not owning a coat hanger was a direct affront to her, and makes her way to the closet. She hangs her coat on the corner of the door, and her fedora on top of that. She was wearing no other clothes, which wasn’t weird, because she is an object person. 

With that done, she then looks around your home some more. Her eyes fall on the television, and she cringes. “Can you turn that off? I hate that show.”

“Oh, I do too,” you offer, and go to fetch the remote. A hilarious and insightful gag about a German man holding a flounder is cut off and banished into a screen of darkness, a sure loss for your cultural enrichment. 

You turn around and realize Leafy is gone. Well, not gone gone, you can hear her in the other room; what you would like to think of as your dining room, because that’s where you put your big table and it’s right next to the kitchen. Her presence is confirmed by a telltale trio of sounds: the drag of a chair being pulled out, said chair creaking as someone sits in it, and a weighty exhale. She must be making herself comfortable, you suppose.

This is going to be a long evening, you suppose in turn. 

You carelessly toss your remote onto your favorite chair, and then join your visitor in the dining room. You take your seat, the one directly across the table from Leafy. Two commanders on opposite sides of a long battlefield, staring down before hell breaks loose. At least, that’s what it feels like on your end. For Leafy’s part, as far as you can tell, she’s trying to pretend you don’t exist, avoiding eye contact as her gaze flits around the room. You clear your throat.

“What… do you want, Leafy?”

Leafy gasps like you just accused her of murder. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it? I come visit for the first time in so long, and you’re acting like you already want to get rid of me. Is that how it is?”

Well, if you wanted to see her, you wouldn’t exactly have gotten divorced. You bite your tongue on saying something like this, not wanting to fuel whatever self-victimizing fire she’s kindling. “How have you been, then?” you diplomatically ask instead. With this, she returns to her routine of fidgeting and avoidant gaze-shifting. 

“Fine. I’m fine. Things are… good.”

“That’s… good.”

Silence reclaims its hold over the room. Cold, painful silence. 

“How’s…” You clear your throat once again. “How’s our daughter doing…?”

Leafy again remakes eye contact. “Evil Leafy’s doing fine. She just started high school, actually. Loves it so far.” 

“That’s great.”

Your formerly betrothed begins tapping her foot on her chair. “She asks about you sometimes, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? ...I’ve been meaning to call. Get in contact with her, that is…”

“I’m sure you have.”

You readjust your shirt. “It’s just been busy is all. I’ve just been… so busy. Things have been crazy…” Leafy gives a solemn nod.

“All business, as always…” She then clears her throat. “Can you get me some water? I need something to drink.”

“Mmrm,” you grunt in a vaguely affirmative manner. Trudging the ten-second pilgrimage to your kitchen, your mind is awhirl with thoughts still on your daughter. You weren’t lying when you said you had been meaning to call. Honest. It may seem like that, and hell, it kind of feels like that, but hardly a day passed without you thinking about her. And yet you still hadn’t…

And how long had it been? You hadn’t been keeping the best track of time since the split happened. The divorce settlement on its own felt like a drawn-out blur, seeming unending yet whirlwind. After that the lonely days of solitude dragged on like a long-winding creek. Endless and dawdling, a constant slow-going existence of motion without progress. You can say you kept yourself busy, but you can’t say to what end. In ways it felt like eras had gone by, yet parts of you felt like you’ve barely moved. What, then, had been keeping you? What have you been doing?

The sound of laughter from the neighbouring room snaps you out of your contemplation, just in time for you to notice the glass of water you’d been filling was nearing an overflow. You turn your sink off and carry the beverage to its intended recipient. This recipient, you saw on your return, was currently occupied with another task - a particularly lively phone call. 

“Well it’s so great to hear from you too, pal! What have you been up to? … Wonderful! Oh, that’s fantastic! Say, are you and Fanny still together? … Aww, that’s just lovely! I’m so happy for you two!”

Your ex-wife’s demeanor over this phone call is a contrast so stark from how she was when you’d left her, it would be believable to learn she was swapped out with a lookalike stand-in. She was vibrant, laughing and smiling wide, when her mouth hadn’t hinted at anything past a frown before. Looking at her in this moment, out of context, you’ would think this was the happiest day of this woman’s life. You had always considered her a gifted actress. 

Wordlessly, you place the glass of the house’s finest tap besides Leafy, and make your way back to your seat. She doesn’t even so much as afford you a glance, totally engrossed in her conversation. “Haha, you got that right, Bubs! … Me? Oh, nothing much… The usual, you know! … Right now? I’m…”

Leafy glances towards you. What’s this? A chink in the armor, perhaps? With only a moment’s pause, Leafy recovers like a pro, not risking dropping her concrete smile. “I’m with Y/N right now! … Ah, yeah, just dropped by to visit… … Exactly! You’re so right, it’s important… … It’s important for two people to stay on good terms, even if they aren’t a ‘couple’ anymore! You’re so right...” 

In an instant, Leafy’s reinforced grin grew notably strained. This caller was giving her a hell of a pressure test. “You want to talk to him? Well…” Leafy places her hand over her phone’s microphone and turns to you. “It’s Bubble.”

You consider, briefly, and decide: ‘Fuck it’. If Leafy wants to play nice for this girl, you’ll play for keeps. You extend your arm and signal for her to pass the phone. Leafy purses her lips, clearly hoping you’d refuse. Good. You hope she does feel awkward about this. Wow, that’s kind of mean, huh. 

“Of course!” Leafy confirms, snapping right back into character for Bubble. “He’d love to! Let me pass you on over!” She reaches across the table to hand you the phone, then sinks into her seat and takes a pensive sip of water.

“He-”

“Hoi hoi!!” your new conversational partner exclaims, cutting off your planned entry into the phone call. “Oih my goish, it’s roilly you, Y/N! Oi haven’t hoird from you in oiges! It’s me, Boibble! You remoimber me, roight?”

“Yeah. Of course!” Who could forget someone so… bubbly?

“Oih, it’s soi groit to hear froim you agoin! Oi’m so glad to hear that you and Loify are still on such good toirms! It’s so impoirtant foir coiples to keep such open coimmunicoition even… Even if thoi stoip being coiples! You two oire downroight inspoirationoil! Is that woird to soiy?”

You’re only about 50% on parsing Bubble’s dialect, not being as experienced a Bubble-linguist as Leafy, but you’re pretty sure the full picture would just make you feel bad. “Uh, yeah, it’s fine. You got it.”

“Well, Oi think Oil’ll be going noiw! Don’t woinna keep you two held up on your fun noight togethoir! TTYL, Y/N!”

Click. And so ends another riveting conversation with Bubble. Nice girl. You hand the phone back to its rightful owner, who plucks it out of your hand like a starving raven catching prey. “Hello!” she greets to no response, and she hangs up with a frown.

“She hung up,” you explain for good measure.

Leafy lets out a long sigh, like a balloon leaking air, and puts her phone away. The two of you resume sitting in silence for a moment or two, or maybe three. The rain seemed like it was starting to let up before, but now is beginning an encore performance, creating a raucous percussion section on your roof. The heavy drums of falling water are punctuated only by the occasional sip from your again-morose visitor. Another moment crawls by, and your worn-down patience begins to crumble. Clearing your throat, you again pose the question. 

“What are you here for, Leafy? ...I don’t believe you’re here just to visit, somehow.”

Leafy shoots you a glare, before giving a surrendering exhale. “It’s about… my alimony.”

You wince. Not an answer you expected, but now that it’s been said, one of the worst you could have gotten. “What about it…?”

Leafy leans forward a bit in her chair, firmly placing her glass on the table. “What do you think? That I haven’t gotten it yet this month! What else?”

You wince, and give Leafy an unsympathetic shrug. “I sent it. I don’t know what to tell you.” This was true. You had sent her the promised check in a tidy little envelope four days ago. You could write a whole short story about things you’ve neglected and forgotten, but this was certainly not one of them. Judging by the venom pooling in Leafy’s eyes, though, she wasn’t buying.

“My checks always come by the middle of the second week of the month. It is currently July 17th, and still no check. That is WELL over the expected arrival date. Hm?” Leafy crosses her arms as she says this, as if she was delivering a decisive argument on a debate stage. You rub your temples.

“I dunno. That’s not my problem… Sounds like an issue with the mail. Try calling them? Or something. I dunno, dude.”

“How dumb do you think I am?!” Leafy sprung out of her seat, slamming her hands on the table. The force of her rebuttal was enough to knock over her glass, spilling a modest stream of water across your tablecloth. “You just want to get out of paying me! I can tell! You didn’t want to support me when we were together, why would you now?”

You bury your face in your hands. This can’t really be happening, can it? “It isn’t like that, Leafy…”

You hear a dragging sound, followed by a set of deliberate footsteps. You look back up to see Leafy in your living room, retrieving her coat and hat. You get up to follow her.

“Fine!” Leafy snipes, maintaining scolding eye contact while pulling her coat on. “If you’re not going to be honest with me, Y/N, then I guess that’s that! I’ll be contacting my lawyers about this! Don’t think I won’t!”

Your mind searches for some response, some way to calm her down, but comes up empty. You’ve danced this waltz before, and you know that every step you take will lead her to take another step back. The only way you’ve ever found to handle her tizzies is to just let her think she’s right, argue and wear herself out. Might as well stick to what works. 

Leafy swings open the door, and is greeted by an uninviting wall of downpour and wind. She hesitates for a moment - not reading too far into it, you assume her basest survival instinct is telling her not to run headlong into a raging storm. She turns to you for just a moment with a pouting scowl, then bravely faces back, mind obviously made up on which direction has more for her. And with no goodbye, she slams the door behind her with as much force as she does anything. 

And she’s gone.

And you’re alone. Again.

Just like you’re used to.

You stagger to your comfy chair, the past hour still catching up to you. Your mind whirls around as fierce as the howling wind outside, betraying your body’s screams for you to sleep. You don’t know how to feel, and every emotion your brain tries to pick for you doesn’t fit. Can’t think clear, can’t feel clear, what can you do? You feel for the remote, and turn the TV back on. Maybe this will help.

_“It seems today, that all you see…”_


End file.
